Sensory Defensiveness
by Side Quest Publications
Summary: In which the Doctor is withdrawing, fleeing from his impending death, and Jack Harkness and Sarah Jane Smith invent an emergency to drag him back to reality. But their fake emergency turns out to be more real than they anticipated... Takes place between Waters of Mars and End of Time.
1. Elian

**Based on a dream I had about a month back. I've modified the details since then to create an actual plot, but take a look at the original dream if you're interested (I'm playing around trying to get the entire address to show, sorry):  
sidequestpublications.  
wordpress.  
com/2014/02/04/dreaming-of-doctor-who  
But be warned: though I have modified details for the story, reading about the dream _will_ spoil some of the plot to come. Most notably the reason the story has the title it does.  
**

****Also I have a new website for Doctor Who fanfiction at DoctorWhoCrossoverCameos . wordpress . com  
Check it out and suggest other stories for me to review, if you please!  
I'll update the link if/when I move the article about that dream.****

**Elian and quasi-anonymous characters belong to me.  
"Mr. Harper," being an alias for one Captain Jack Harkness, does not, nor does the person Elian crashed into (Sarah Jane Smith) at the end.**

* * *

The week started out like any other.

Elian got dressed, followed her roommate out to the mess hall, made vague noises when the roommate complained about her appearance—Elian could never seem to sleep much, and it showed—and picked at breakfast. Then she went back to the dorm to brush her teeth, grabbed her books, and went to her classes.

At around noon, she joined her Phys Ed class, attempted to dredge up just enough energy to keep up, then took a quick shower, went to lunch and picked at the food.

After lunch, more classes, picking at dinner, sometimes another shower, and homework.

And finally bed, where Elian attempted to smother herself with her own pillow rather than listen to her roommate with another "conquest."

And the next morning, the routine started all over again. Phys Ed was a little different; there was a big dance coming up, and attendance was mandatory, so they spent half the class practicing.

_Attendance_ was mandatory, but there was no rule about participating. Elian was perfectly content to be a wallflower the entire night. She could not, however, escape participation during class, and once practice was over, she skipped lunch to return to her dorm and scrub herself off thoroughly.

The young man she'd been paired with hadn't done anything wrong, nothing filthy, nothing at all like her roommate liked at night. He'd just put his hands on her arms like their teacher had instructed.

But just the _feel_ of him against her had been... abrasive? She shook her head. There was no word for how it had felt, but she was almost surprised she didn't have a rash.

Although if she scrubbed her arms any harder, she was bound to give herself a lot worse than that. Maybe worse than poison ivy.

That was it, it felt like poison ivy. Or some kind of allergic reaction. She laughed at the image that presented, but the laughter was forced and bitter as she tried to settle her nerves. _Right. I'm _allergic_ to being touched._

Her nerves refused to be settled. The man's gentle touch, with no motive but to follow Mr. Harper's instructions, had set her to shaking, and _not_ in a good way. It had been all she could do to pull away from him without anyone noticing, to avoid being touched any more than was absolutely necessary.

Even so, she was sure the teacher had noticed. The man noticed _everything_. Nothing sinister there, not really. Mr. Harper was probably wondering if she was going to have a heart attack or something on his watch. Trying to decide how to avoid being blamed if she did.

Not that she could fault him for worrying, but she wished he would stop watching her so closely. Or, more accurately, she wished she would stop _feeling_ like he was watching her.

She'd finally scrubbed away the feel of the other student, but she was still shaking by the time she reached her next class.

When she went to bed that night, her roommate was nowhere to be seen. Another party, probably. At least none of the student-run parties were required, otherwise Elian would've burnt out halfway through her first term.

She had almost dozed off when she felt someone breathing on her face.

She shrieked, jerked upright, and shoved at whatever had dared to get so close to her.

"Shit!" a male's voice exclaimed. The lights came on, and there stood one of her roommate's conquests, pinching his bleeding nose. "I was just trying to _kiss_ you, you little prude!"

Elian shivered. Even through his pinched nose, or maybe because of it, he'd managed to make the word "prude" sound like an insult and a threat all at the same time. "You didn't even _ask_ me," she snapped. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her eyes darted around the room. She couldn't decide what to do. Run? Scream? Hit him again?

He made her decision for her. He gave her a dirty look, then stomped out of the room, leaving her by herself again.

She couldn't stop shaking. _What's wrong with me?_ It wasn't the kiss that bothered her, nor that he'd tried to give it without her permission. Okay, it _had_ bothered her, just not quite enough to account for her reaction. It wasn't even _how_ he'd touched her... it was that he'd touched her _at all_. It scared her, and she had no idea why.

Sleep was a long time in coming.

The next morning, she resolved to forget that the night had ever happened. Managing that was mostly easy. She didn't share any morning classes with any of her roommate's conquests, and the roommate didn't have anything to say besides the usual complaints about Elian's appearance. There was absolutely no reason for her to run into the young man, or to be reminded of what he'd tried to do.

Except someone was determined that she _should_ remember.

"Keith tells me you rejected his advances last night," her literature teacher said after the students had all filed in.

She ducked her head, her face flaming. She'd forgotten that Keith—the young man from last night—had this teacher right before her. "I didn't submit a complaint about him," she mumbled. "I don't see how it's any of _your_ business."

The man _tsked_. "When are you going to learn? You can't keep playing up this 'new kid' act. _Keith_ hasn't even been here for half as long as you, and he already knows how to get by."

"Can we just stop talking about this?" Elian protested. "It's got nothing to do with literature—"

"Doesn't it?" the teacher interrupted. "Remind me, what have we been reading?"

Elian's face burned even hotter. "The Memoirs of... of Casanova."

"Right," the teacher replied. "Who's known for _what_, exactly?"

If he was waiting for a response, he didn't get one. Finally, the teacher walked back to his desk and continued the lecture from where he'd left off yesterday, leaving Elian to absorb herself in the reading.

The book was a surprisingly interesting read, considering her lack of interest in the subject matter. Yet it was, at times, _painfully_ obvious that the author was more in love with himself than anyone else.

"He's an unreliable narrator," she said during one of the class discussions.

"How do you mean?" the teacher asked.

"Well, he's telling the readers about his own life. We're not hearing it from anyone else, we're hearing it directly from _him_. Even if he's 'confessing his sins,' he's still trying to make himself sound good. But he... slips up, sometimes. He's not as charming as he thinks he is." She flipped through the book to find the page she'd marked. The teacher would probably want an example...

"Can you find an example?" he asked, proving her guess right.

"Right... right here. The um... third woman he'd seduced?" Or was it the fourth? "The woman in the carriage, anyway. If you'll forgive the paraphrase, he'd basically just told her it was going to happen whether she wanted it to or not. Maybe the rest of them were seductions, but that sounds like flat-out rape, to me."

"But she consented," one of the students protested. "He gave her a choice—"

"He gave her an _ultimatum_," Elian corrected. "He threatened to expose her to scandal if she didn't do what he wanted. I don't know, maybe the morals were different in those days; if we're to believe Casanova, then the woman obviously thought the blow to her reputation was the bigger threat. But today?" She shook her head. "Forced consent isn't true consent."

"And that gives us our next assignment," the teacher said before the discussion could continue. "Was Casanova's behavior typical of those days? Oh, not his precise actions," he said to a smattering of chuckles, "not the seductions, but how he justified them. I want a two-page paper, due first thing next week, with three sources _besides_ Casanova, comparing the morals of those days to the ones common today. Something specific, please, but not too specific—we'll be expanding on the topic for our portfolios at term's end, so try not to write yourselves into any corners."

The bell rang shortly after he finished talking, signaling the end of class. Elian lingered at her desk as she always did; the longer she stayed put, the lower the chance she'd have to bump into anyone on the way to her next class.

But this time her habit worked against her. "Elian. A word?" the teacher said.

Elian sighed, and waited until the classroom was empty before she approached the teacher's desk.

"You can't keep doing this," he said, without waiting for her to speak. "You know perfectly well that half the school's curriculum isn't what you find in books, it's the social experience. If you don't participate—"

"But I _do_ participate!" she protested. "I take part in the class discussions, I socialize," _no matter how much I'd rather stay in the dorm and read,_ "I've even joined a few clubs..."

The man simply folded his arms. "But you never let anyone touch you."

"What, like last night?" she snapped. "Like Keith?"

The teacher shook his head. "Keith's attempt was inexcusable, given the circumstances," he replied. "The faculty is already deciding on a suitable punishment. But Elian, how many times have you shaken anyone's hand? Since... oh, since you first enrolled?" One eyebrow lifted. "Once? Twice? Ever?"

"I'm pretty sure there was a lot of shaking going on at the assembly," Elian said.

"Someone else tearing your hand from your pocket because you can't get away fast enough doesn't count." The teacher smiled. "You said it yourself... forced consent..." He held out one of his hands.

Elian stared at the hand and backed away like it was a poisonous snake. She kept her own hands plunged deep into her pockets. "I'm working on it," she whispered.

"Work _harder_," the teacher said. "Consider it part of your grade."

Elian flinched, and bit her tongue to keep from saying anything she might regret. She walked back to her desk to collect her things, then left the room without another word.

Part of her grade? How was _that_ anything but an ultimatum, a way to force her "consent?"

But honestly, why _couldn't_ she do it? What was wrong with a simple handshake? What was wrong with _her_, that she'd rather go home than go along with something so insignificant?

Except she couldn't go home, not now. Home was too far away. She'd need money for a cab and a plane ticket. She'd have to leave the school grounds... alone...

And no matter how much she wanted to be left alone, no matter how much she shook just being in the same room as another person, the thought, right this second, of actually _being_ alone filled her with such a dread that it nearly made her sick.

No... it wasn't being alone that made her feel sick. It was the idea that she wasn't as alone as she thought. That something else was there, something following her in the now-empty hallway, keeping just behind her, always keeping itself out of sight.

She couldn't stop shaking. There was no way she could manage Phys Ed like this. Maybe she should just return to the dorm. Or check in with the nurse, first; she'd need to give Mr. Harper an excuse for missing his class, and she _was_ feeling ill...

She whirled around. Something _was_ there, she was sure of it! But when she looked... nothing.

She groaned. _I'm going to wind up in a straightjacket I keep this up._ She forced herself to walk toward the dorm as she tried to get her fear under control.

But it refused to be controlled. Her vision narrowed, her heart jumped into her throat, she couldn't breathe, she had to get out of the hallway

"Oh! Are you all right?"

* * *

**For this story, "sensory defensiveness," while exaggerated for plot reasons, refers to a significant aversion to certain sensory stimuli-such as being touched.  
In my case, I get all itchy if someone touches me, even something like a hug or accidentally bumping elbows. In Elian's, even a gentle touch is such an irritant that it feels, as she phrased it, like an allergic reaction, and can even set off her fight-or-flight response.**

**Somewhere in the story, or at least one of the drafts, I think I phrase it as being sort of a cross between an allergy and a phobia.**

**That sudden dread about being watched at the end, though... that one came directly from the dream, and I didn't want to get rid of it, though I'm trying to work out exactly how it could relate to the plot to come. Hmm...**

**And yes, that _is_ my opinion of Casanova. Early reading, yet-I'm not much further in than Elian-so he might get better as I continue.  
Although Grimani isn't winning any awards in my opinion, either.**

****Update  
Minor edit to the teacher's remarks about Keith, in response to one of my reviewers.  
The dialogue should still hint at there being more going on than simple unwanted touch, but hopefully with a tiny bit less of the unfortunate implications if this had happened in our world.  
End Update****


	2. Sarah

**Based on a dream I had, modified to attempt to turn it into an actual "plot."**

**Elian belongs to me, Sarah Jane Smith belongs to BBC et al.  
**

* * *

Sarah had just finished grading another paper and tossed it onto the waiting stack. She glanced at the clock, and tried to decide if she had time for a proper meal before her next class.

She sighed. This was _not_ what she'd had in mind when she'd agreed to work with Jack. But he'd said the place tended to be a little secretive; she'd never have made it within ten miles in her normal capacity as reporter. And once UNIT learned that Torchwood was poking around, they'd practically _demanded_ that she tag along.

She hid a grin. UNIT needn't have bothered. There was nothing of interest here. Oh, there were all the usual rumors: alien invasion, psychic experiments, and so on. Rumors spread by Torchwood, she was sure. There was enough of interest to keep anyone from finding out Jack's _real_ game, and no more.

Not even the Doctor knew what they were up to... which, after all, was why they were here. Her grin faded. The Doctor _should_ have seen through their scam from the start, but after losing Donna... then that disaster in World War 2—she suspected Jack knew more about that than he was letting on—then Mars...

He was withdrawing from everything and everyone he'd ever cared about. He'd accidentally admitted, once, that he was running from his own impending death, but he didn't seem to realize he was running _to_ it just as quickly. Jack feared they might lose him forever if they didn't drag him back to reality.

But reality, these days, was so bloody _boring_. And the Doctor was bound to catch on to their scam sooner or later.

Sarah glanced at the clock again and made her decision. _Time enough._ She gathered up her papers, both the class assignments and her own "research," and headed for the door.

And someone crashed into her. Not _hard_, not enough to knock her down, but the papers in her hands scattered all over, and she shouted in surprise.

She opened her mouth to scold the student, as she assumed a real teacher would have—this wasn't grade school, after all; these students ought to know better than to go running in the halls—but the girl's expression made the words freeze in her throat.

The girl kept looking over her shoulder, back into the hallway. And she looked frightened.

Sarah cleared her throat instead. "Are you all right?"

The girl flinched, looked around, and gave a guilty start. "I'm sorry," she said. "I wasn't... I'm fine. I just wasn't watching where I was going." Her voice, though quiet, sounded far too calm for her behavior.

But when Sarah held out a hand to help the girl to her feet, the girl scrambled away like she'd been attacked.

"You don't _look_ fine," Sarah pointed out. She bent down to start gathering up the scattered papers.

The girl moved to help, though Sarah couldn't help but notice that she was keeping her distance.

"I'm just... jumpy," the girl finally admitted. "I've had a weird day, is all."

The girl didn't _sound_ jumpy. She actually sounded more... embarrassed?

The girl glanced back out into the hallway. "Um... you're Miss Smith, right? I was wondering... could we talk?"

Sarah glanced at the clock again. "About what?"

"Anything," the girl replied with a shrug. "You're new here. Maybe... talk about that? How you like it here, what you did before, whatever..." She glanced outside again. "Whatever you want to talk about," she finished in a whisper.

Sarah stood up to look out into the hallway. She saw nothing out there, but when she closed the door, the girl appeared to relax a little. "Why don't we start with introductions?" Sarah asked. "I'm Sarah. And you are..." She held out her hand again.

The girl merely stared at it. "Elian," she muttered.

Sarah put her hand down after a moment. "Not a hand-shaker? That's fine. A bit refreshing, to be honest," she added quickly. The girl was flustered enough; there was no sense shaming her over something that insignificant. Sarah grinned. "I've got this friend who likes to touch everyone, a real hugger. Sometimes I think he's addicted to it, like he can't _not_ touch, and... Well, I suppose it's fine, usually, but sometimes I'd just get so _tired_ of it."

"Did you tell him that?" the girl—Elian—asked. "Have you asked him not to touch you?"

"Tried to," Sarah admitted. "Once. But the _look_ he gave me..." She laughed. "I swear, if you'd _seen_ the look on his face, you'd have thought I'd just kicked his puppy or something."

Elian actually chuckled.

Sarah tried not to frown. She was glad that the girl wasn't acting so frightened, but the mood swing was... odd, to say the least. Almost as odd as the Doctor's tended to be, especially these days.

She glanced at the clock once more, and made a quick decision. Jack hadn't let on quite what he had planned, but Sarah might not get a better chance. Whatever had frightened the poor girl might be nothing to worry about, but it _could_ give the Doctor something new to fuss over. "I was just heading out to meet him for lunch, actually," she said. "Did you want to come along?"

Elian ducked her head. "Students aren't supposed to leave school grounds," she said, her voice quiet again.

_Damn_. "I won't tell if you won't," Sarah replied. "I promise, I won't let him smother you."

Elian shivered, glanced at the closed door, and then nodded.

* * *

**In the original dream, this point is technically where I woke up. Or rather after we reach the TARDIS is, but seeing as I chose to skip writing out that scene...  
However, I've often had dreams that seem to continue beyond my waking, beyond even my ability to _choose_ how they play out-a more literal interpretation of "daydream," I suppose-and this may well be one of them. So while I continue looking for a more coherent plot for the story, the dream itself-and by extension, its influence on the story-is officially not done.**

**"That disaster in World War 2" is a reference to another fanfic I'm working on.  
You can look up an early attempt at writing pitches for it and several others on my own website ("pioneers of the shattered waters" on wordpress) or my deviantArt account (sidequestpubs), or even Nuri's character bio on my _other_ deviantArt account (sidequestpublication) if you're interested in more information. I frequently refer to that fanfic as "the sadistic plot."**


	3. Doctor

**Based on a dream I had, modified to attempt to turn it into an actual "plot."**

**Elian (a.k.a. "the girl" in this chapter) belongs to me, Sarah Jane Smith and the Doctor belong to BBC et al.  
**

**And regarding one of the comments I'd received about unwanted touching, I'd like to point out for this and later chapters-Sarah and the Doctor suspect that Elian's problem is far more than simply her being "jumpy" as she tries to excuse it, but neither of them, as yet, are aware that she actually has an aversion to being touched. Therefore, neither of them realizes that there's anything wrong with a simple handshake, or the Doctor's tendency to touch and hug and whatever else... let alone that the Doctor had actually been a little too enthusiastic in trying to shake Elian's hand.  
That, plus the Doctor's ability as a touch-telepath (or at least his tendency to touch when reading someone's mind) will, of course, lead to further complications once they do realize that there's a bigger issue.  
Jack, on the other hand, as the class he is "teaching" is far more likely to involve even accidental touching than any of the others (P.E. as opposed to a literature class), has a much better opportunity to observe Elian's reaction; once he shows up, he'll probably be able to figure out pretty quickly that she experiences tactile defensiveness and/or **Haphephobia or something along those lines. (W**ould you believe I have Fifty Shades to thank for that word?)**

* * *

The Doctor heard the TARDIS door open behind him, followed by footsteps.

"Sarah," he said, focusing on the records in front of him, "have any of you been able to find the medical files?" She didn't answer. He sighed and turned around. "Sarah, _please_, this isn't making any... you're not Sarah."

"You mean Miss Smith?" the girl said. "She invited me along. I... I hope that's all right."

The Doctor mentally cursed. Bad enough that Sarah had gotten herself involved—Jack, at least, could survive if something went wrong—but now she was bringing a stranger into this?

"Is this your..." the girl said, and hesitated, clearly searching for the right word. "Your home?" she finished. She looked around, but her eyes were unfocused. He wasn't sure she was actually seeing the TARDIS.

"My transport," he corrected. "Although I guess I do live here. Maybe. Sometimes." He shrugged. "Yeah, I suppose it is sort of my home." He rolled his eyes as he recited what she'd say next. _It's bigger on—_

"It's beautiful," she said.

The TARDIS nudged his mind. It didn't communicate in words, not usually, but if it did, it'd probably be calling him a prat for letting his mouth hang open.

He snapped his mouth shut. "Thank you," he said after a moment. "Sorry, I haven't introduced myself, have I? I'm the Doctor." It took him three seconds to walk over to her and grab her hand to shake it.

And only half a second for her to jerk away, out of his reach. She rubbed at her hand. Her eyes were focused now. Focused on him. Focused on the hand he still held out.

She looked afraid.

"I'm sorry, did I hurt you?" he asked. He _had_ grabbed for her hand a little more enthusiastically than normal; he might've only startled her.

Her expression lost its focus again. "No," she mumbled after a moment. "I'm just a bit jumpy."

"Yeah, well, the place does have that affect on people," he admitted. He tried not to grin at the irritation the TARDIS sent at him for that remark.

"Don't flatter yourself," Sarah said from over by the door. "It isn't the TARDIS. She's been like that all day."

"Sarah, I was wondering where you were." He glanced at the girl. "Would you... excuse me for a minute?" he asked, though he was sure she was no longer paying attention to him. "I should probably see if Sarah needs any help." He walked over to the door without waiting for a response.

Sarah merely folded her arms and watched him.

"What the _hell_ is she doing here?" he hissed. He kept his voice down; the girl was spooked enough as it was, and he didn't want to take the chance of frightening her off. "_No_," he said, before Sarah could reply. "Don't. You _promised_. You promised when you dragged me into this, you _swore_ nobody else would get involved!"

"Are you about finished?" Sarah asked.

The Doctor glowered at her. He _wanted_ to say more, much more, but he settled for a quick nod.

"Then to answer your question, she was terrified." Sarah glanced over at the girl. "The worst part is, I'm not sure she even knows it."

The Doctor lifted one eyebrow.

"Oh, she knows she's reacting badly," Sarah replied to his unspoken question. "She acts embarrassed enough when she's caught at it. But it's like she doesn't know _why_ she's acting that way, and that's upsetting her even more. Can you tell me, Doctor, if you'd been in my place, can you _swear_ to me that you would've just left her? That you wouldn't _try_ to do anything about it?"

The Doctor sighed, and rubbed the bridge of his nose, before answering. "No," he admitted. "No, I couldn't. Not even now. You know me better than that."

"Then how can you expect me to do any different?"

"I don't know," the Doctor said. He reached past Sarah to shut the TARDIS door, effectively ending the argument in her favor. "That doesn't mean I have to like it. I—_no_!" He whirled and vaulted over the railing to grab the girl before she hit her head.

"Is she all right?" Sarah asked, coming up behind him. "What's happened? Is she hurt?"

"I don't think so, no," he said. He touched his fingers to the girl's forehead and skimmed the surface of her mind—the very most he would risk doing without her permission, and without any sign of a threat.

But the quick glance into her mind didn't show him any threat. Not one that required a deeper intrusion, at least. And she certainly couldn't give him permission while she was unconscious. "No, she's just passed out."

"I can see that," Sarah said, "but why? What's wrong with her?"

He hesitated before voicing three of the most alarming words he knew. "I don't know," he finally replied. But even that wasn't half as alarming as the truth, that he sensed something in the girl, a sort of... _wrongness_ that he hadn't felt in centuries. That he'd _never_ felt in a human. "Come on," he said. He stood up and cradled the girl in his arms. "Help me get her into a bed."

—

The Doctor froze for just a moment. "This is... new," he said. He stared, more than a little puzzled, at the coral and plant life mingling on the walls. Had the TARDIS led him to the wrong room?

"Hold on. Isn't this one of your arboretums?" Sarah asked. "No, wait, this looks sort of like a bed."

The Doctor set the girl down gently on the apparent "bed" before turning his mind to the TARDIS. The décor was very odd—pleasant, certainly, but some of those plants were impossible to grow outside of Gallifrey, and he thought he recognized a few that were difficult to find even there.

The sense he got from the TARDIS was decidedly smug, and he found himself grinning when he realized what had happened. "You _vain_, vain creature," he muttered. "I don't think I've ever caught _you_ fishing for compliments."

But when the girl was in a fairly comfortable position and the TARDIS began scanning her, both the smug sensation and the Doctor's grin vanished completely.

"What's wrong?" Sarah looked at the Doctor's expression, then at the scan, then back at the Doctor. "Doctor, what's wrong?"

"I know why she passed out," he replied. He gestured to one of the walls, where a chart appeared for Sarah's benefit, and he began pointing out some of the various meters. "Sodium, hydration, cholesterol, glucose, thyroid... She is malnourished, dehydrated, and seriously need of sleep. Unhealthy, certainly, but not too dangerous. Nothing a good rest can't cure, and maybe some tinkering with the food machine. No, that, though," he gestured at one of the larger meters, "_that_ is what worries me."

"More than all of the rest of that?"

The Doctor nodded. "That's her adrenaline." He glanced at Sarah for a moment before kneeling in front of the bed. "You said she was terrified. That's why you brought her here. Do you know why? Have you or Jack found anything out?"

Sarah shook her head. "No. When I found her, she was... she was running. Running away from something, I think. Like she was being chased. But Doctor, there was nothing _there_." She frowned. "Hang on, you said she's sleep deprived. Doesn't that cause hallucinations? Couldn't she be frightening herself?"

The Doctor shook his head. "Ordinarily, yes, and it'd certainly make things worse. But no. In her case, it's the other way around. Something's been frightening her so badly that she hasn't been able to look after herself."

"But how can you be _sure_?"

"Because the TARDIS is shielding her," the Doctor replied. "Right now her mind is inside a great big psychic Faraday Cage."

Sarah blinked a few times. "Doesn't a Faraday Cage have to be entirely closed to work?"

"Exactly." The Doctor looked up from the girl briefly and was puzzled by some of the expressions crossing Sarah's face. "She passed out the moment I closed the door," he explained. "The TARDIS cut her off from whatever's been frightening her. No more fear means the adrenaline goes down, and she loses the only thing that's kept her going. Everything else just caught up with her all at once. Good thing it did, too."

"_Good_," Sarah echoed. "You think it's... _good_ that she's passed out. That she's in this condition."

"Well, on the TARDIS, certainly," the Doctor replied, "instead of out there. But I mean it; she's very lucky you found her when you did. Sarah, no one's meant to have that much adrenaline in their system. If she'd kept going like that, the fear alone would have killed her."

Sarah stared at him, unable to form a reply, for a few minutes before she excused herself to return to the school.

The Doctor returned his attention to the girl. He began caressing her, attempting to smooth out her frown lines until she looked a bit more peaceful. She shifted in her sleep, and he froze briefly. But she merely turned to face the wall, and he continued his ministrations.

"But what could have frightened you that much?" he muttered. "What are you so scared of?" He wished he dared search the girl's mind for the answers.

* * *

**Re: "It's bigger on-It's beautiful." I've checked through transcripts, and I cannot find _one_ instance where anyone's reacted to the TARDIS that way on the show.  
Seriously? Not one? I really wasn't trying to make Elian "different" in that regard, I honestly assumed at least _one_ person would've called the TARDIS beautiful at some point...  
**

**Re: the TARDIS' reaction to the compliment-namely the bedroom it created for Elian? Pure wishful thinking, I'm afraid. ;) I like Ten's "coral" theme, though I could do with a different set of colors, and I think it would be awesome to have Gallifreyan flowers among my bedroom decorations... assuming I don't find myself allergic to them, of course. (Achoo!)  
Plus a bit of a reference to another story/OC I'm tempted to start on (oddly enough, _also_ inspired by a dream, albeit with a rather more disturbing "plot"). The Doctor might allude to that idea later on in this story-he already has, actually, via the "wrongness" that he'd never felt in a human before-but how much detail I'll go into in this one instead of simply waiting until I start the other idea depends on whether I can manage it without too much of a data dump.**


End file.
